


The Rose Prince

by Kaatyr



Series: Divergent Worlds [15]
Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Audio Format: MP3, Gen, One Shot, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaatyr/pseuds/Kaatyr
Summary: Hiei hears of a tower with no entrance that supposedly holds a priceless treasure. He finds the tower, but the treasure inside is certainly not what he expects.
Relationships: Hiei & Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi
Series: Divergent Worlds [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1413277
Kudos: 12





	The Rose Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is available in audio form for those who would prefer to listen rather than read. Please note that this is a text to speech recording, which means that there may be some issues with it.  
> [Stream or download MP3 via Google Drive](https://drive.google.com/file/d/10UszDk82dzQ4JF7MyTwoqzZfvgp-toZs/view?usp=sharing)

Hiei silently cursed the forest under his breath as he swung his sword blindly, cutting a haphazard path through the oppressive trees. He burst out into an orange sunset, shedding leaves and twigs as he lowered his sword. His once-fine clothes were soaked with sweat and torn by sharp branches. His short hair was a nest of leaves and twigs. Hiei sheathed his sword and sat down on the grass. He felt he’d earned a brief respite from his quest.

Hiei surveyed the scene as he wiped sweat from his face and caught his breath. Lush green grass stretched out before him, right up to the foot of the tall tower hovering on the edge of the cliff beyond. The tower stood like a silent white guard, reaching as high as the castle towers in the capital city of the kingdom Hiei called home. But unlike those towers, Hiei could see no way to enter this one. Smooth white stone climbed to the sky, unbroken except for a single small window near the top, more than twenty meters above Hiei.

That fit with what Hiei had heard about the tower from the vagabonds he’d met in the tavern earlier that month. A secret tower guarded both by wild seas and a thick forest. A tower with no entrance.

According to the vagabonds, the tower held a priceless treasure. That alone was enough to draw Hiei’s interest. Apparently, the tower had been built by a god from a land across the sea.

After Hiei had caught his breath, he rose and approached the tower. As he got closer, he realised that there was a bed of red roses near the tower, previously hidden by the long grass. Hiei skirted it to inspect the wall of the tower. It was just as smooth as Hiei had feared. No handhelds or gaps that would enable someone to climb to the window.

As Hiei was contemplating his options — because there absolutely had to be a way in — a sweet sound caught his attention. He’d thought that it was the wind whispering through the grass at first, but he soon realised that it was a voice. A voice singing a song in a language that Hiei had never heard before.

Hiei craned his neck up, shuffling back a few steps to try to get a look at the window. Was someone actually up there?

“Hey!” Hiei shouted. “Hello?”

The lovely song faltered, then stopped.

“Hello?” Hiei shouted again. “Is someone there?”

But there was no answer. Hiei shouted several more times, but even the twinkling light of the stars brought no response. Feeling frustrated, Hiei sat down against the tower wall. If there was someone up there, then why wouldn’t they acknowledge him?

After some time, the singing resumed. This time, Hiei did not interrupt it. Something had to happen soon, right? Whoever was up there would have to leave at some point to get food or supplies. No one could survive shut up there forever.

Hiei was almost asleep when the sound of hooves jolted him awake. He scurried out of sight and crouched behind the roses. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he knew that the rider must have stopped beneath the window. Hiei heard boots hitting the ground heavily.

“Kurama, let down your hair!”

The call drew Hiei’s eyes up over the roses. He saw a dark shape grasp something that had presumably been flung down from the window. A rope?

No. Hadn’t the newcomer said, “Let down your hair!”? Could it really be hair?

Hiei watched avidly as the newcomer used the rope-like aid to scale the wall of the tower, then disappear into the window.

So, that was how it was done. Hiei made a mental note to try it once the newcomer had left.

* * *

He spent an uncomfortable night beneath the stars, listening to the sound of the horse shuffling and snorting. The sun had just cracked over the horizon when the newcomer finally left the tower, going down the same way he’d come up. Hiei watched him gallop off on his horse before tentatively approaching the tower window himself.

Now, what had the newcomer said?

“Kurama, let down your hair!”

And, to Hiei’s delight, a red rope tumbled from the window to dangle in front of him. Hiei touched it wonderingly. It definitely wasn’t rope. It was soft and a rich ruby colour. It was actually hair, braided to resemble a rope.

Hiei began to climb. He once made the mistake of looking down and was assaulted by nausea as he realised how high he was, with his only security the hair rope clutched in a death grip.

Hiei scaled the last few meters and grabbed for the windowsill with gratitude. He swung himself inside and slid to the floor, breathing deeply in relief.

When he felt steady enough, he lifted his eyes and surveyed the room. It was quite small, though richly decorated with plush hangings and covers. A large bed dominated the space and beyond that was a wooden door that presumably led to the rest of the tower. Hiei noticed that it was locked.

And, huddled warily against the wall, long rope of hair clutched in his hands, was a teenage boy with large emerald-green eyes. He was wearing a loose white shirt and nothing else.

“Hello?” Hiei said as gently as he could. “Are you Kurama?”

“H-hello? Kurama.”

The boy’s voice was soft and hesitant.

As Hiei realised that the boy spoke with a heavy accent, he then recalled that the boy — most likely the singer from the day earlier — had been singing in another language.

Hiei pointed at the boy. “Kurama,” he said.

The boy pointed at himself. “Kurama,” he agreed. Then he pointed at Hiei. “Hello?”

Hiei laughed and shook his head. He pointed at his own chest. “Hiei,” he said. Then he pointed at Kurama. “Kurama.” Then back at himself. “Hiei.”

“Hiei.” The boy pointed at him, then at himself. “Kurama.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Hiei let out a sigh. So they’d gotten names established at least. Unless he was wrong about Kurama being the boy’s name. Surely not.

Kurama's eyes moved between the window and Hiei curiously. Hiei supposed that he was wondering why Hiei was there instead of his usual visitor.

“Um, I don’t suppose you know where the treasure is,” Hiei offered lamely.

His answer was a clueless shrug. Kurama seemed to decide that Hiei was no threat, and he curled himself into a comfortable chair beside the window, his long legs tucked up. He played with his braid between his fingers, watching Hiei with an intense, curious stare that reminded Hiei of a fox.

Hiei left him there to try the door. He pried at the lock, but it refused to budge. Behind him, Kurama began to sing softly again.

Defeated, Hiei turned back. Kurama had his cheek resting against the window frame, song flowing softly from between barely parted lips.

Who was this boy? Why was he here? Had he ever left this tower?

Hiei approached him slowly. Kurama remained where he was, still watching Hiei closely. Hiei put one hand on his shoulder, feeling bone jutting out beneath the thin shirt.

“Kurama? Do you live here?”

Kurama dipped his head forward, nuzzling Hiei’s arm. Surprised, Hiei drew his hand back. Kurama’s song drifted off into silence, though he stared inquiringly up at Hiei like a puzzled bird. Then, to Hiei’s shock, he began to tug his shirt up. Hastily, Hiei pulled it back down.

At first, Kurama resisted, obviously very confused, but when Hiei snapped at him, Kurama relented.

With Kurama’s modesty still mostly intact, Hiei paced across the thick carpet. No treasure, at least none that he could see in this room. A boy who spoke another language and who very likely had no way of leaving this tower himself. A boy wearing only a shirt… A picture was forming in Hiei’s mind and he didn’t like it one bit.

Yet, what could he do? In order to leave the tower himself, he’d need to make use of Kurama’s hair again, which meant that Kurama would have to stay here.

Unless he cut Kurama’s braid off… But what if Kurama refused to leave with him? What would Kurama’s kidnapper do to him if Hiei had to leave him behind?

Hiei approached Kurama again. Kurama lifted his emeralds from the loose stich in his shirt that he’d been examining to watch Hiei warily.

Hiei offered him a smile. It didn’t appear to win the redhead over. Instead, Kurama frowned.

Hiei tugged on his hand, drawing Kurama out of his chair. He pulled him over to the window and pointed outside.

“Aleric,” he said, naming the kingdom that lay beyond the forest.

Kurama gave him an inquisitive look. “Al-a-ric?” he repeated. Then he said something incomprehensible to Hiei.

“Alaric,” Hiei repeated.

“Hiei Alaric,” Kurama said. Exactly what he made of those words, Hiei couldn’t guess.

Hiei pulled him over to the bed and sat Kurama down on the edge of it. Kurama allowed himself to be manhandled with the air of a tolerant adult being harrassed by a child. Taking hold of Kurama’s braid, he began to inspect it, noting that there were a lot of split ends. How long had it been kept braided? How often did Kurama wash it? How on earth did he manage to brush it?

When Hiei glanced at Kurama’s face, he realised that the boy was scowling at him. Quickly, he dropped the braid. Kurama tugged it over his right shoulder, out of Hiei’s immediate reach.

So, the hair was potentially a touchy subject, Hiei noted.

He began to explore the rest of the room. The wardrobe provided only a few more shirts such as what Kurama was already wearing. A few books were crammed onto a small shelf, but a quick flick-through showed Hiei that they were written in a language he didn’t understand.

What did Kurama do all day? Surely he’d already read those books. Did he just sit here and sing until his guardian returned?

When Hiei turned back, he realised that Kurama had returned to the chair by the window and was now busy mending a shirt. Hiei watched, fascinated. He’d never been able to handle a needle and thread well. He didn’t have the dexterity, but it was plain that Kurama did. He worked the needle with skilful grace. He must have had plenty of time to practice.

An idea struck Hiei then. There was something in this room that was notably lacking.

“Kurama,” he said. “Let down your hair.”

Kurama set the shirt down, lips turning down likewise into a frown. He looked… pissed about something. But he did gather up his long braid and let it fall out the window.

Hiei patted his shoulder in thanks as he clambered ungracefully out the window, clutching at Kurama’s braid for dear life. He didn’t intend to leave for long.

Hiei returned to Kurama an hour later, his bag and pockets heavy with small fruits and berries. Kurama looked disgruntled to see him, until Hiei presented his offerings.

Kurama eyed them with greedy desire, though he didn’t make a move to grab at any of them. Hiei had set them carefully out on a shirt he’d filched from Kurama’s wardrobe, spread across the bed.

“Go on, it’s okay.”

Hiei gestured to Kurama, then the food, indicating — he hoped — that it was okay for Kurama to take them.

Kurama pounced like a starving lion. He devoured the food, only occasionally turning incredulous eyes to Hiei, as if he couldn’t believe that Hiei had done this. Hiei smiled as he watched Kurama clumsily wipe sticky juice from his chin with the back of his hand. This was definitely a step in the right direction.

Kurama returned his smile with a tentative one of his own. “Good,” he said.

So Kurama did speak some of Hiei’s tongue.

“Good,” Hiei agreed.

Hiei remained with Kurama for a few more hours until the sun began to dip low over the trees. With regret, he once again used Kurama’s hair to climb down the tower.

Maybe after a few days of comfort in Hiei’s presence, Kurama would trust him enough to allow him to cut off his braid and take him away from this tower.

Hiei stole away into the forest, eager to avoid Kurama’s kidnapper. Hopefully Kurama was smart enough not to mention that he’d had a visitor to his mysterious guardian.

* * *

Karasu’s dark form slipped through the window, braided rope clutched tightly in his hand. He pulled viciously on the length, drawing a sharp cry from its owner.

Young, plush lips crushed easily beneath his own. Karasu moaned into the kiss. No whore tasted as sweet as his little rose prince.

When Karasu released him, Kurama cringed into himself as he always did. Yet, Karasu noticed something different about his demeanour this night. Usually, Kurama would stare at him with ravenous hunger, eyes searching Karasu’s pockets for any treats Karasu might have brought with him — but today he just looked scared. Which meant…

Suspicious, Karasu began to search the room. He found what he was looking for in the darkest corner of the wardrobe: a shirt stained with juice.

Kurama could not leave the tower on his own, which meant that someone else had been here.

Furious, Karasu laid into the redhead, beating him until he was a quivering, crying ball on the floor.

“Ungrateful little brat!” he snarled. “I’ve given you everything, looked after you! Who was it? Who did you let up here?!” He gave the boy a savage kick in the ribs that caused him to choke.

Kurama shook his head dumbly, tears streaming down his cheeks. He refused to say a word, no matter how many times Karasu hit him.

Finally, Karasu took a deep breath and gathered himself. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said. “We’ll fix that.” He grabbed for Kurama’s long braid, using it to drag the wailing boy from the floor.

* * *

Hiei returned to the tower mid-morning the next day,pockets stuffed full of treats for Kurama. He’d purchased some bread, cheese and a sweet cake from the nearest town.

“Kurama, let down your hair!” he called up to the window.

He waited impatiently for the braid to fall, but nothing happened. With a mild sense of unease roiling in his gut, Hiei called out again. This time, the braid fell and Hiei grabbed eagerly at it.

“Ow!” he yelped. He drew his hand back to see crimson blood welling up from the palm of his hand.

He studied the braid carefully, wondering if Kurama had gotten a needle caught in it, but he was appalled to realise that it wasn’t a needle. A vine had been threaded through the braid, a vine covered in long, wicked thorns. Hiei scanned up the length of the braid, noticing that here and there, red roses bloomed from within the braid.

Shit.

Hiei could have just turned away and left, but his worry for Kurama led him to climb the braid anyway, despite the thorns that cut cruelly into his skin and clothes.

As he got closer to the window, he saw that Kurama’s head lay on the sill, hair spilling out over it. He did not react to Hiei’s presence, not even when Hiei reached him.

Hiei carefully climbed past him and into the tower. He leaned over Kurama anxiously.

“Kurama?” he asked.

Kurama’s eyelids flickered, emerald peeking out tiredly from between red lashes. A tear slid down from the corner of his left eye to trail along the side of his nose. He whispered something indecipherable in a voice as quiet as a breeze.

A sound from behind him caught Hiei’s attention. It was very familiar to him. He turned to see a tall, dark figure standing near the locked door, drawn sword in hand.

Hiei reached for his own sheathed blade with bloody, torn hands, nausea swimming in his stomach. The mad, glittering light in those violet eyes said more than words ever could.

This would be a fight for possession of Kurama. A fight to the death.


End file.
